Let's disregard the positivity promise for the moment.
I need to bitch.
I just took a nice yoga lunch. Okay, "nice" maybe isn't the right word, let's say it was "decent" due to all that drinking and dancing I did all weekend, but I felt pretty good after. I was in a lovely mood.
Then I came back to work.
And some motherfucker had stolen my chair. My perfectly positioned, well-loved chair.
Now, yes, my yoga lunches are longer than a normal lunch. But they are not decades long. I come back. I DIDN'T DISAPPEAR. I DIDN'T QUIT. YOU KNEW I WOULD RETURN AND WOULD WANT TO PARK MY ASS IN MY CHAIR.
MY CHAIR. MINE.
I assume a big group went into the main conference room behind my desk for a meeting. And they were short a chair.
They had three options.
a) Take a non-rolling chair from the office next door, a mere ten feet away.
b) Walk back to their desk and fetch their chair, maximum, oh, one hundred feet.
c) Steal my chair like a kleptomaniac.
They picked "c". And now I sit, and wait, in my non-rolly chair, to turn around and scold them the second I hear the door open behind me.